“I’m not certain if you noticed, Violet, but your brother is not a boy any longer.” Appreciation for the man he had become was evident in Camille’s voice.
Helena wondered if the woman really was holding on to a tender for him. How horrible it must be to imagine yourself with someone like Max, only to end up with someone cold like Hereford. Not for the first time, Helena considered that she might regret letting Max slip through her fingers, but then she reminded herself that it would be selfish to keep him when she couldn’t give him what he wanted.
Violet sighed. “I suppose not. Well, if he must be married, then you are the best choice to put up with him, Helena.” Violet winked at her as she went back to arranging her end of the bough.
Camille giggled. “He’ll propose before he leaves. I just know it.”
Helena shrugged. “I thought he might wait until Christmas.”
Camille stopped her arranging and looked up at her. “But he’ll be in New York for Christmas. No, he’ll definitely do it properly before he leaves.”
Helena’s fingers faltered in tying off the twine, a sprig of needles slipping from the wreath. “He’ll be in New York for Christmas?”
“Oh dear, hadn’t you heard?” August asked, abandoning her own wreath. “He’s been called back to New York early. There’s been a threat of a strike in one of the factories. He’s leaving Saturday.”
They only had three days together. “He didn’t tell me.” He had mentioned the workers’ demands, but she hadn’t thought he’d leave early.
Why hadn’t he told her?
“I’m sure it’s because we’ve all been so busy,” August said, patting her shoulder before returning back to her wreath.
“Yes, I’m sure it is.” But Helena knew the truth. She had been successful in pushing him away. After their heartfelt talk in her drawing room several days ago, he had simply thought it wouldn’t matter to her. Her heart ached even as she knew that she had made the right decision.
The crunching of gravel had her looking up to see the carriage that had been sent to retrieve Max and his parents from the train station approaching. Excitement leaped to life in her belly.
“They’re here,” Violet announced, and it seemed like every eye in the room turned toward Helena.
“Let’s go meet them.” August squeezed her hand and then untied her apron.
Helena did the same and smoothed a hand over her gown. Mama led their small group to the entrance hall where Max and his parents were already stepping inside. Her breath caught at the mere sight of him. He wore a charcoal frock coat that stretched impressively across his shoulders. Her body clenched as she remembered how it had felt to hold on to those shoulders as he’d lifted and pressed her against the wall.
He turned from greeting her father and paused when he saw her. It only lasted a moment, but she felt the perusal of his gaze from the roots of her hair all the way down to her toes. He smiled, walking across the short space to greet her. “Helena.”
“Max.” She didn’t embrace him as she wanted—that wouldn’t be appropriate for many reasons; instead, she gave a quick and abbreviated curtsy.
He reached out and gently took her hand, bringing her fingers to his mouth. Her lips were jealous as she watched.
“How was the train?” She reluctantly drew her hand back as Violet and August walked up.
“Good,” but that was all he managed to say before Mrs. Crenshaw moved in, embracing both of her daughters in turn.
Helena’s own mother took over, directing a small army of footmen as they descended to deal with the Crenshaws’ luggage. Helena noted the two trunks—steamer trunks—directed to the bachelor’s hall, and the tightening around her heart throbbed a little.
“You’re in time for tea,” Mama said. “Helena, please go collect our other guests and bring them to the drawing room.”
Helena nodded and turned, hurrying away as if she were out to do her mother’s bidding. In reality, she was trying to outrun the ache that had lodged in her throat. She couldn’t understand why it hurt so much to know they had so little time left when all along she had been preparing herself for his departure.
None of this was real. So why did it feel real?
* * *
• • •
Because Helena’s mother enjoyed entertaining so much, afternoon tea effortlessly gave way to dinner, which melded into dessert and drinks in the drawing room with hardly a difference between the three. The atmosphere for the Christmastime house party was always so relaxed and informal that it was the one event with her parents that Helena looked forward to all year. As a little girl, she’d been able to participate in this in a way that children had been forbidden from other activities, and the magic of that had not faded as she had aged.
They had reached the part of the evening where the group had traveled from the drawing room to the gaming room, a large chamber made dark by heavy mahogany paneling on the walls and burgundy carpets. It was typically a domain reserved for men, which showed in the heads of elk, deer, and boar mounted around the room. The mantelpiece boasted large ivory tusks, one of Papa’s most prized possessions from his youth. A billiard table took up the center of the room, while several gaming tables were set up at each corner. Tonight, the women had been allowed inside.
Helena sat at one of these tables losing badly at whist. She couldn’t concentrate because she kept watching in growing jealousy as her younger sister Penelope, Camille, and Lady Blaylock took turns flirting with Max as they played at his table. It was social, perfectly acceptable flirting, but she kept noticing how he grinned and how his strong hands easily manipulated the cards and wondering why she had ever thought they couldn’t have another night together. Then she remembered that it was because of that attractive smile and those strong hands that she had best stay away. She didn’t think she was brave enough to take having him again and letting him go. She’d likely do something stupid and end up heartbroken.
For that matter, the longer she stayed here in this room increased her chance of doing something unwise. Twice between rounds she had moved to go to him, and twice she had restrained herself. With a brandy warming her blood and reminding her how alive being with him had made her feel, she knew she had best leave now before she wasn’t able to stop herself a third time. When the current round ended, she made her excuses and left for her bedroom.
The gaming room opened onto what had at one time been a great room in the original structure bestowed on their family by Henry VIII. It had been renovated multiple times throughout the centuries, so that now a row of windows looked out over the gardens on one side, leaving the space brighter during the day even though it still boasted a stone floor and wood-paneled walls. Gas lamps lit the hall at night, a medieval effect that she liked very much. She was halfway down the wide hall when the gaming room door clicked open and closed behind her. The excited swirling in her stomach told her who had followed her before she heard him say her name.